Echoes of a Legend: The Elements
by Dannaron
Summary: Thought I'd try something different: four short stories using Zelda characters and places, no relation to each other, each based on one of the four elements. It makes sense if you read it.
1. Earth

**Earth**

The sun cast her burning gaze over an empty and eternal stretch of sand. This was the very heart of the wasteland, and it stretched on for miles and miles in either direction. With no landmarks to steer by and the howling wind forcing a harsh cloud of sand over everything, navigation was impossible. For now, the land was calm: there was no driving gale, but it was only a matter of time before another started. Not a blade of grass grew, no living thing stirred: it was one of the harshest landscapes imaginable.

But now, on the horizon, a figure could be seen slowly revealing itself against the shimmering heat haze. It moved at a walking pace, as if it had all the time in the world. Gradually it grew larger, revealing itself to be a young man, clad head to toe in green. He wore over his head a strange kind of hat which achieved little save to look odd, and wore around himself a simple but tailor-made green tunic, held around the waist with a normal brown belt. His legs were protected from the harsh sun by a pair of leggings that were originally white, but after what would seem a few days travelling through the dusty landscape they were, by now, a lot dirtier and more worn. On his feet he wore a pair of sturdy, serviceable brown leather boots. Across his back he wore a heavy shield, decorated with symbols of his native land. Behind his shield, at a diagonal to be easily drawn by his left hand, he wore a longsword in an intricately patterned blue-and-gold sheath. Sweat beaded across his forehead and clumped his straw-blond hair together. The traveller's sky-blue eyes looked on with determination at the horizon. Gradually, at a constant pace, he toiled on under the merciless sun that continued to beat its rays down upon him. The traveller was too pale for this place: fortunately though, for the moment his clothes covered him well enough to avoid contact between his skin and the flame in the sky: but as it rose to noon, it would only be a matter of time.

The burning disc slowly climbed higher into the sky, and still the lone figure continued on across the sands, gradually making his way up and down the dunes, leaving his trail extending far behind him. Now, waving and winking at him in the distant haze, the figure noticed a single distant landmark on the edge of his sight. The hours ticked by and the exhausted figure finally stopped, wiped his brow and sat down in the shade of a dune. Far away, the unidentifiable object wavered in an out of sight as the heat continued to rise from the baking sand. The lone person pulled out a flask from somewhere on his person and drunk a mouthful from it. The water was hot and foul-tasting but still went some of the way to lubricating his paper-dry throat. He reluctantly stoppered the flask, looking at it longingly as he stowed it away again. The figure sighed, staring fixedly at the distant landmark. With a soft grunt, he got back onto his feet and continued on his way towards it.

Slowly, hour by hour, the mark grew in shape and size until it could be clearly seen as a monument of stone, standing all on its own in the middle of the sea of sand. Around it was what looked like paving stones, cracked and worn with the ages. Upon arriving, the young man looked up at the monolith. It was a simple spire, pointing to the heavens and inscribed with ancient and indecipherable flowing letters. He touched its rough surface and looked wonderingly at it, running his gloved hand down the letters on its surface with a frown of incomprehension. At that precise moment, the sun reached its zenith, hanging in the middle of the sky and directly above the spire. As if this were a signal, the ground suddenly started to shake.

The boy stood up suddenly and looked around, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. The sand surrounding the rocky clearing that he stood in suddenly rose as if in anger and began to spin around in a fierce and howling storm. Then, with an ear-piercing screech, an enormous worm-like creature launched itself out of the sand and moved sky-wards, the dust cascading down from cracks between its armour-like plates. It opened its mouth, which ran in a vertical stroke down its head, and let a long, pale, whip-like tongue protrude briefly from it. With a sudden, snake-like movement, its head whipped to look strait at the boy in an eyeless stare. It roared again and dived with all the speed of a scorpion. The boy's eyes widened in shock and he leaped out of the way with sudden agility, rolling to his feet as the sand-dragon's head smashed strait through the rocky floor where he had been standing a brief moment ago and buried itself deep into the earthen ground, its tail whipping around to follow. The green-clad figure drew his sword in his left hand and slid his shield onto his right in a single, smooth, lightning-fast movement. Almost immediately afterwards there was a hiss of sand as the dragon's head burst forth again, before its tail had finished descending underground. It opened its vast maw and screeched as it raced towards the young man, who held his shield warily in front of him. At the very last second before it closed the traveller suddenly jumped upwards, clearing its mouth entirely as it snapped shut and landing on the back of the head immediately afterwards.

The dragon continued to move and the warrior lost his footing, falling over and rolling across the surface of the beast as it gained altitude. Desperately he thrust his sword into the gap between two of its armoured plates and held on for dear life. The dragon screeched in annoyance and dived into the churning sand again. The warrior looked down and saw this, gasping in a mouthful of dust that plumed upwards in the beast's wake he let go of his weapon and hit the ground hard. The beast continued to submerge, taking his sword with it. The warrior rolled across the sand as more of it was driven by the sudden storm into his throat and eyes, destroying any perception of what was happening around him. Scrambling onto all fours, he coughed violently and also tried to wipe the sand from his eyes with his sleeve, only achieving to exchange the earth on his face with that on his clothes. Then, over the howling of the wind, his pointed ears picked up the distant sound of another screech heading towards him like an oncoming train. He quickly rolled to his side and immediately afterwards the dragon swept past with a roar. His hand shot out, grasping his sword by the hilt as it passed and being yanked along onto the back of the creature by its momentum.

Sheathing the blade in one movement, at the same time the traveller unslung his shield and stood on top of it. As the worm swept upwards, he slid back down with a wide grin on his face and his arms flung out to either side to balance him. With a final whoop of excitement, the boy flipped off the tail of the sand-dragon and landed on the top of a dune, boarding down to its end. Picking up his shield again, he unsheathed his sword and ran towards the indistinct shape of the monument, his shield raised to protect his face from the blinding sands. As he reached the stone clearing he also seemed to reach the eye of the storm as the whirling sands suddenly stopped, leaving him in a circle of calm surrounded by the furious dust. Far behind him however, he heard another roar that was rapidly getting closer. A look of focus on his face he ran strait towards the spire with all speed, slinging his shield over his back as he did so. The wide-open maw of the worm appeared only metres behind him, bursting through the storm clouds at a tremendous speed, its tongue lashing out like a serpent to ensnare its prey. It got closer to the warrior as he got closer to the monument, until it seemed he would run strait into it and then be eaten.

However as he reached the pillar the warrior didn't pause; instead his footing simply changed from one plane to another and he ran vertically up its surface for ten paces. Underneath him, the open maw of the sand-dragon collided with the solid rock base of the pillar and brought an abrupt halt to its movement. With gravity reinserting its authority the green-clad wander was unable to continue his vertical progress and so flipped backwards, positioning his sword underneath him. He landed on the beast's head with all his weight behind his weapon, driving it through the carapace and into its brain. The worm reared upwards, and shot into the sky, trailing him with it, where it flew around in circles, screaming in pain. Then, suddenly and without warning, it turned entirely and instantly into sand. The wind rose to a deafening crescendo and the dunes leaped up like a sea in a tempest to meet the youth. The hero fell backwards into a rolling column of dust…

The sun cast her burning gaze over an empty and eternal stretch of sand. Only one thing broke the endless monotony of the dunes, and that was part of a rock pillar, surfacing through the desert like a mountaintop through an ocean. In all directions for miles there seemed to be no living thing except the endless expanse of the ground. But now there was one other sign breaking the endlessness of the wasteland: a strange green hat lying on its own on the sand. Suddenly, a hand clasping a sword burst forth from the earth, and a hero, coughing and spluttering ungracefully, rose like a phoenix from the ashes. He sheathed his sword, retrieved his hat and wiped the dust from its surface, then put it back on before continuing on his way to the opposite end of the wasteland, to whatever fate awaited him there.


	2. Fire

**Fire**

The chambers deep within the heart of Death Mountain resounded to the sound of hammering.

Upon an anvil that was as black as the void, a huge, bearded figure struck at a piece of red-hot metal. The great figure was clearly not human: his skin was a pale brown colour and seemed to be made of stone but was patterned with black tattoos in strange, primitive design. His long, white hair grew wild and thick but had been carefully plaited into long threads that reached almost down to his knees. The hulking figure's bulging muscles pulsed with the effort of each swing, but neither a glimmer of sweat nor any other sign of the heat showed upon them. Around his head he wore a red band of the same fiery colour as the metal he was beating. The hammer he used was simply made and also black, but seemed to glow with every beat. Molten lava flowed down the sides of the chamber and surrounded the figure in a circle, leaving him standing with his anvil on an island in the fire. Surrounding him stood six other figures, each dressed in a differently coloured cloak with the hoods up despite what must have been searing heat. Their faces were hidden in shadows.

Using the hammering as a constant, slow, bass rhythm the smith began to chant in a voice that sounded of ancient, red caverns and vast lakes of molten rock:

"I bring heat and flame, I bring fiercest fire; I bring a burning heart of bright desire!

I give you passion, I give you power; I give you the strength of the sky's grand flower!

By me you shall burn, by me you shall destroy, by me you shall forge the way!"

The smith ended his chant on a strong note. He started to hammer the other side of the metal. One of the figures surrounding him stepped forwards and lowered its hood. This one stood taller then all of the others and wore a cloak of deepest purple. His age was hard to determine: he seemed at the same time both young and old. His violet eyes were hard and merciless and his black hair tied back out of his eyes in a warrior's topknot. The beat changed to be faster and paired, almost like the pounding of deep drums in the darkness. The purple-robed one started to chant in a habitual whisper that sounded of death and dark secrets:

"I bring doom and darkness, I bring blackest night; I bring the void that swallows all light!

I give you secrets, I give you silence; I give you the curse of ruthless violence!

By me you shall kill, by me you shall murder, by me you shall smite your foes with fear!"

The singer stepped back, but kept his hood down to reveal his face. As he did so, one of the others stepped forwards and lowered his hood. He looked older then the others and his stern face seemed to almost radiate wisdom. He wore a robe of bright, golden yellow. His head was bare and glistened in the light, but his long, white beard trailed almost down to his waist. He carried on the chant, and the rhythm changed to the tolling of great bells in lofty towers of learning. He spoke in a stern, authoritative voice that spoke of grand cathedrals and bright spires:

"I bring law and order, I bring brightest light; I bring the good for which you shall fight!

I give you faith, I give you purity; I give you the mark of most holy authority!

By me shall you shine, by me shall you illuminate, by me shall you banish the night!"

As the previous chanter had, the old man took his place in the circle again, but kept his hood down. As soon as he did so another stepped forth to take his place. This one was the shortest by far, only the height of a child, and as he lowered his hood it was revealed that he was, in fact, a child, but his hair was green and his eyes showed a depth of understanding and wisdom equal to any of the others'. His rhythm was bright and lively, and his voice sounded of energy and life:

"I bring grass and earth, I bring thickest glade; I bring protection greater then any blade!

I give you breath, I give you laughter; I give you life for now and ever after!

By me shall you save, by me shall you grow, by me shall you start all anew!"

The cycle repeated. The green sage stepped back. One dressed in orange stepped forward and lowered his hood. His face was tan and regal, his eyes black and cunning, and his hair red and fearsome. His rhythm was strong and constant, and his voice sounded of determination and ambition:

"I bring life and death, I bring noblest spirit; I bring the heart of the shifting desert!

I give you cunning, I give you pride; I give you purpose in your stride!

By me shall you desire, by me shall you inspire, by me shall you lead to victory!"

The orange-robed king stepped back. The smith suddenly stopped beating and raised what was now clearly a sword, lowering it into a nearby tank of what had been ice by the start and by now was water. By the hiss of steam the blue-robed figure stepped forth and lowered his hood. His face was blue-skinned and scaled, and from his head there grow a long fin. He sang in a voice that sounded of soft rain and deep, still lakes:

"I bring ice and steam, I bring deepest water; I bring the mind of a calm fighter!

I give you peace, I give you thought; I give you all that can be taught!

By me shall you guide, by me shall you know, by me shall you judge rightly!"

The blue-robed sage stepped back. Finally the smith held up the sword, which caught the light reflected from the fire and threw it to every corner of the room. Its keen edge seemed to part the air and its power could almost be felt. The last sage stepped forwards, without lowering its hood.

This one wore a grey robe. The smith reverentially handed it the sword and stepped back to take its place in the circle. The six unhooded chanters began to sing wordlessly in harmony, a tune that spoke of a sanctuary against the unending flow of time, a shelter from the force that creates and destroys all. The grey-robed figure threw back its head, letting the hood fall. Her hair was a golden blond and her eyes a sparkling blue. She seemed to have only just reached womanhood but her expression looked far older then it ought to. She chanted over the singing in a voice that was clear and wise, always just, but never merciful, which gave succour to none and saw the beginning and end of all things.

"I bring day and night, I bring endless time; I bring beginning and end in great combine!

I give you immortality, I give you exception; I give you control over time's domination!

By me shall you travel, by me shall you seal, by me shall you complete your purpose!"

The sages continued to sing as the grey-robed queen held the blade above her head. "This shall be the blade of evil's bane! This shall be a weapon to which all others are subservient! This shall be a Master Sword!"

With a flash a symbol engraved itself on the blade of the sword she held aloft: one triangle created from three lesser ones.

Deep within the heart of Death Mountain, a light was born that would forever shape the fate of the world.


	3. Water

**Water**

In the far-off distance, a low growl of thunder sounded. It gradually built up as it neared and rolled over the land like a wave. A soft rain was falling, swathing everything in a white mist.

Framed by the roots of two huge trees stood an ancient stone doorway. In front of it now were stood two women, gathering in the shelter provided by a nearby rock.

The first one to speak was taller then the other, and looked older. Her hair was snow-white and cut short and practically. Her face was stern and matriarchal, but tattooed and decorated with what appeared to be war-paint. She wore practical clothes that would make for easy movement and had a metal cuirass over that. She seemed to be continuing on from an earlier conversation. "There are many obstacles that you will face as queen. This test is designed to prepare you to face the one greatest and most dangerous threat to your reign." She indicated the door they stood near. "You must enter here, and do not come out until you are ready."

The other woman, or perhaps girl for she seemed on the cusp, was watching water dripping off the edge of a nearby leaf. She looked much more innocent then her older counter-part, but there was an intensity and deep understanding in her blue eyes. She was dressed in a simple dress, but it seemed regal and elegant, and was marred by their contact with the deep mud around her. Her hair was shoulder-length and golden-blonde. "How will I know when I am ready?" She asked apprehensively. The older woman's lips tightened: it could have been a smile, but for the utter lack of humour in it. "You shall know."

The younger girl turned and headed towards the door. "Your majesty," The older woman called, and took something off her shoulder, "You may want these." The young princess came back and took the bow and quiver offered. She looked up at her teacher: "What will I find in there?" The older woman again smiled her blank, mysterious smile and her eyes seemed to be looking back into deep pools of memory.   
"The worst enemy you shall ever face."

Filled with no small trepidation, the girl took a deep breath and turned her back on the armoured servant, walking slowly towards the stone portal. It seemed to grow much larger as she neared it, a great and imposing thing: it was firmly shut. The princess fought an urge to look back towards her tutor: such a sign of uncertainty would not be tolerated, she knew. Setting her eyes resolutely forwards, she leaned against the stone frame of the door and pushed with all her might. At first there was no change, but gradually her strength and weight won out: slowly, the heavy thing grinded open. She stepped inside without looking back. Behind her, her lone attendant sighed and shook her head. "Good luck." She muttered under her breath, "You'll need it and more."

Upon passing through the doorway the girl was struck by a deafening peal of silence. On the other side was an empty room with no distinguishing characteristics except for a shallow covering of water over the floor and a seeming lack of wall and ceiling and, a long distance in front of her, a simple tiled platform rising just above the water. The shocked girl glanced around to either side: the room continued in every direction for as far as the eye could see, an unchanged image of eternity. The water that covered the floor was utterly still until her footsteps disturbed it, but even when rippling it cast a clear reflection of her shape, standing apparently upside-down in an identical room that existed below her. Aside from the platform further ahead there was nothing but empty expanse of the shallow water over the floor in every direction and for who knows how great a distance: perhaps an infinite one. The princess figured that it had to be some kind of trick, an illusion: there had been no sign from outside that the space within was this large. Steeling herself with this comforting thought, she walked on towards the platform, seeing nothing else to head for. The steps of her reflection matched her exactly: two girls, both identical, both unsure and unnerved but still determined, heading towards two identical locations.

Finally she arrived, at the tiled surface and stepped onto it. Now close enough to properly observe the thing, she noticed that it was shaped and painted like a yin-yeng: a circle composed of two halves, one white and the other black. She stood now on the black circle, which was the one closest to the door she had entered from. Nothing happened. She proceeded to the next half of the circle, looked around in front of her, and then walked off the platform and into the water once again. There was nothing else in the room. Confused, she was about to turn around and head back out when something caught her eye. Slowly, inexorably and almost against her will she looked down. Her reflection was missing. Instantly the revelation hit her, all of the symbols and the dark hints latched into place, and she knew exactly what manner of enemy she would struggle with today. Training took hold: instinct which had been drilled into her since birth awoke immediately. She unslung her bow and fitted an arrow to the string with a speed born of long practice, spinning around and kneeling down to allow for a better shot and face the foe that she knew would be there.

Standing on the dark side of the circle was her reflection, smiling coolly at the apparent threat of the arrow. She looked exactly the same as the princess: the same dress and features, proportions and colours all identical, right down to the marks of dirt and rain gained from outside. But her expression was wholly different: arrogant and collected for the moment, but the true princess could see with her piercing sight the unbridled hate and raw malice in those eyes, the air of regal superiority, the fury that could be loosed like a weapon whensoever its master desired it. "Oh come on." The reflection said, in a voice completely identical to its former master's but for the tone: smug, sarcastic and bitingly cynical. "You can't really expect it to be that easy can you? Put that thing down before you hurt yourself." The princess did not hesitate, barely even thought: she let go of the string, letting the arrow fly. Immediately her double leapt to the side, pirouetting gracefully through the air and landing like a cat with a grin, but still the original did not hesitate. By the time her enemy had landed already she had another arrow fitted and again she fired it promptly. Her reflection anticipated the attack and bent quickly to the right, letting the dart fly past. As the kneeling girl fitted a third arrow, her opponent stood up and folded her arms, staying perfectly still. The girl grimaced: was she really going to shoot an unarmed enemy who wasn't daring to move? "You won't do it." Her reflection said in a smug, matter-of-fact voice, "You can't. We both know."

The string twanged. The arrow sang through the air. The reflection didn't so much as blink: the dart passed by to the side of its head by less then an inch.

"My, my, what an amazing surprise! I told you that you couldn't, but did you listen? Oh no, of course not: after all, who am I to know about your faults, your deficiencies, your failings?" The smug figure said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. The reflection shook its head, "For example, your rank stupidity. Little girl, how was it going to be that easy? You just shoot me through the heart and then I'm dead and everything is done and finished? _Very_ well thought out: an _excellent_ plan. I'm sure your tutors would be proud of how calmly you assessed the situation, how well you kept your head when faced with a crisis, just like a true queen would. Ha!" the image spat into the water nearby. "But then, you always were rash. Never thought things through."

"That's a lie." The princess interjected. There was no trace of outrage, no insult in her voice: she was stating a fact that she knew to be true. Deep within she took comfort from the fact that this apparition was wrong, but not a jot of that appeared on the outside: she was as calm, as tranquil, as focussed as ever. This did nothing to unnerve her reflection however: she just smiled.

"No, it's quite true, and in your heart of hearts you know it, otherwise you wouldn't think enough of it to bother claiming otherwise. Don't bother trying to lie to me little girl, it's pointless: I _am_ you."

_Alright, so you like to talk_ the princess thought as she stood up, slinging her bow over her back again. _Playing mind-games and taunting to catch me off guard. Good luck with that! I'm not that stupid._ Without a verbal reply, she breathed deeply, centring her energy, and dropped into a combat stance taught to her by her aide outside. "Ah, you want to play now? Alright, _your majesty_, show me what tricks you've picked up from that old hag of yours."

The girl charged forwards almost before her enemy had finished speaking, leaping into the air once she reached the platform and flying towards her with foot extended. The reflection swerved out of the way and struck out with her hand at the base of the princess' neck, but found another hand there already. The princess twisted about and held her fingers out, palm flat to the ground, then jabbed it like a snake towards her reflection's wind-pipe. She jerked back from the blow but was still caught and bent double, coughing. The princess rushed forwards, unslinging her bow and knocking an arrow with lightning speed, aiming it towards the base of her opponent's skull. At the last moment her reflection stood up, letting the dart scatter across the tile floor: the coughing fit had been a feint, the blow had never made contact. The reflection's arm whipped out, grabbing a handful of hair from her opponent and yanking it backwards, while her leg kicked out her knees and bought her to the ground. She finished by kicking the head forwards, sending the girl face-first into the shallow water of the floor.

"What's this?" The reflection cried in a voice of mock outrage, holding her hands to her face ineffectually, "Fighting dirty? Shock! Horror! How dare I do that to the daughter of the king, to his pampered little darling?" The triumphant reflection began to pace around the princess, who was already picking herself off the ground, mastering the dizziness prompted by the blow to her head and wiping away the trail of blood from her nose where it had hit the floor. "I already tried to tell you, you stubborn, stupid little girl, that you're not going to beat me that easy, but you didn't listen. After all, you are worth so much more then all other people, you've always been so much more intelligent then them, that their opinions have never mattered, have they? So why start paying attention now?" The princess looked up at the figure: its smug grin had now gone and was replaced with a look of accusation and revulsion, circling her prey like a shark. _Don't listen! Don't let her throw you off guard!_ The girl thought desperately, and launched herself again at the image of herself. The reflection grasped both of her hands and kicked her in the stomach "Now, now my darling." She hissed, as she bought the girl's head hard down onto her knee, "Let's not interrupt while I'm talking. Now where was I? Oh yes! Not listening. I can see that you're still not bothering to do it. After all, it's not as if you came here to _learn_ anything now is it? Oh no, wait! That's exactly why you came here! But I'm not saying what you want to hear, am I? I'm not one of your prancing, effete castle knights or heralds singing praises about the wise and just future queen. I'm you, and I'm telling you what you know is the truth. And that isn't nice to listen to is it?"

The girl now lay, once again, face-down in the water. Her head swam and bled, her body ached from the punishment it had sustained. The jibes of her counter-part were ringing in her ears: it would be so much easier if they _were_ nothing more then jibes and insults intended to catch her off guard. To consider them as such would be delusional: these were her thoughts, her observations, tried and tested and proven true, but constantly silenced and shut away because to live with them would be to live with despair. Now, though, another was speaking them: the words were audible, falling into her living ears and finding shelter in her waking mind. The reflection didn't bother to bandy about with lies. It knew all of her deep, dark secrets: it _was_ all of her deep, dark secrets. She couldn't fight it: she did not know how, and in being stupid and attempting to tackle it with brute force, on its own terms, she had wounded herself to the point where victory was now unobtainable. The princess struggled to her feet and made for the door: the reflection did not bother to impede her progress, as she knew it wouldn't. Instead, it folded its arms and yelled after her:

"That's it, run away, flee! Block out your ears and sing if you want to! Ignore the truth, and the truth will go away: isn't that the Sheikah spirit? No eye of truth to pierce the darkness for you: the darkness is too frightening, the shadow too deep for your mind, isn't it child? Better to hide in it, to blot it out from your existence and create for yourself an imaginary sun of idealistic deceit to shine upon a world of crude pettiness and simplicity, too shallow to accommodate anything that might threaten or enlighten you!"

Stumbling and wounded the girl continued for the way out as quickly as she could, trying to ignore her shadow and suddenly realising that by doing so she was obeying its sarcastic order, heeding its cynical advice. She stopped in her tracks. "No, don't bother. You've tried already. Go back to running. Throw yourself at the feet of the crone standing by the door, who you know will give you neither mercy nor even pity. She thinks you strong, thinks you wise enough for this kind of test: she does not know you as we do. She has already passed, has already with steely resolve and unflappable courage stared into the face of death itself and defied it; for all her plainness and all her icy countenance she is a far greater woman then you will ever be, _your majesty_, and would make a true queen, though she will never be given the chance. Go! Weep in the lap of your father, who will pamper you and spoil you and imprison you in a gilded cage to keep any threat from again nearing his precious but ever so fragile treasure, until you wither away like a plant when shut off from sunlight."

The princess, however, did not move. Her vision was obscured through dizziness, her head swam and her nose bled, her injured knees threatened to give way, but her mind remained as unclouded as ever. The intense gaze of her eyes now turned inward. Everything the reflection said was true and she knew it to be true. Therefore, there remained two courses of action: to take its advice and run, maybe return to the test at a later date though she knew that if she couldn't defeat it now she would never be able, to hide in a shallow world of superficiality where such dark hollowness could not attack her. Or, the second choice, to turn and defy the thing behind her, to listen to what it had to say and to use that advice to better herself. The princess straightened, standing tall and regal: the daughter of kings, her own mistress, and not one to flee blindly from pain and darkness, and turned on the spot.

The reflection had now changed. Still its form remained the same: identical to that of the princess down to the last detail. But now behind it there was a huge shadow that followed in its wake: a formless shape of dark despair and fear, of choking, noxious fumes that rushed forwards like a horde of demons to overrun the girl. Visions assailed her: fragments of nightmare and of prescience that she knew to be as true as everything else spoken that day. She saw a great and jealous power like a storm overthrow her father and her world and spread its dark tendrils across everything she knew, upending it and ordering it as the darkness saw fit, to suit its unquenchable desire for domination. She saw a bold warrior, a green bolt of lightning, formless, directionless yet filled with potential rage at the storm: it had no focus, it could do nothing. She saw herself: a pure and unsullied light of reason, imperceptible to the dark cloud, shape and guide the bolt to its purpose, mould it into a great weapon, a true hero, and with it in her arm disperse the clouds and bring about peace. She then ascended to the throne the cloud had left to guide the realm. But the hero, the youth that she had shaped and in shaping come to love, was now changed irreparably from what it had been. Now a hero, a device needed by the people, it left to where its aid would be required. And then she alone was left, guiding over people who could never understand her, alone, forlorn, until age and weariness tore her down and eliminated her wards, letting the storm come a second time.

"You are doomed!" The reflection bellowed, advancing on her while surrounded by the wings of shadow and inevitability that flanked it, "Run, hide, stay, fight, defy; whatever your choice will be, you remain bound either to a world too false to satisfy or too dark to contemplate. Fight me and you shall be rewarded only with pain and the burden of the truth, flee from me and you shall cease all feeling and sacrifice the very nature of what you are! Whatever path you choose, you can never destroy me!"  
"No!" The princess shouted, and now she strode forward, ignoring the demons of darkness, shouldering the visions and marching towards her own image, "I cannot: but even were I capable then I would not. You are a part of me; you are my shadow that must be cast. For what is hope if fear is not present, how is there humility without doubt, what sweetness exists in love if hate is not an alternative? You are my Sheikah side, my darkness and my reflection and therefore I embrace you, for I need you. I will not flee from you and throw my life away to be unmarked by achievement or gratification. If I must suffer to be the greatest that I can be, then so be it! If I perish old and alone once the storm has been weathered, then that is the path I choose, so long as by choosing it the storm can indeed by waited out, the realm saved, the hero met and loved and promptly lost thereafter. I choose to remain complete and full, and observe the world in all of its wonders, both bitter and sweet!"

At this the wings of shadow broke apart, fluttered about in fury and then reformed behind the princess. The reflection walked forwards, now in silence, and reached out with one hand. The princess touched its fingers with her own.

And then, suddenly, without flash or noise or other showy affect, the room and the shadow was gone. She now was kneeling in a tiny chamber with earthen walls and roots penetrating the ceiling, on a tiny, dirty, old wooden platform with a faded yin-yeng inscribed upon it. The floor was covered in water that had leaked in from the rain outside. In front of the kneeling girl was a mirror, which she was touching gently, her fingers joined to the digits of the reflection that neither moved nor talked without her consent. Still she felt dizzy and injured: her dress was saturated from being knocked onto the floor, her head badly bruised from the knocks taken. The door behind her still lay ajar, and the soft noise of rain could still be heard from outside.

Now mirroring her movements in servitude, the reflection stood up as she did, and smiled.


	4. Wind

**Wind**

A dry wind blew over the valley, stirring the dust in its wake. There was not a cloud in the sky here: no shroud to bring shade or solace from the merciless sun as it glared down on the land, baking the red stone and golden sand alike. It was nearing noon, and very few people now stirred under the empty sky: to do so would be foolish. All with no drastic errand had retreated inside their stone houses, cut into the bare red cliffs themselves to provide shade and shelter from the wind and heat. All except for one.

Upon the roof of the highest room of the fort there stood a lone figure. Tall and proud was he, looking over the valley as a lion surveys the savannah. There seemed something of a lion in this man too: his fierce, dark eyes, his wild mane of bright red hair, the aura of strength that enveloped him. The man's skin was dark, adapted to the harsh rigours of his realm and his garb black also, in spite of the hideous heat which must have been felt within it. Suffering, after all, only made one stronger, and strength was needed to survive in the valley. The desert wind stirred the man's pale cape, making it ripple and flap behind him like a sail.

Emerging from an open doorway cut into the red cliff behind him came a woman, clearly of the same race as the man. Her hair was dark, as was her skin and her eyes, but the twin scimitars worn over her back were not. An off-white veil covered the lower half of her face, as if to hide her identity to the casual observer. Her step was as light as the breeze and utterly silent, but in the presence of the man also reverent as if treading on sacred ground. She kneeled and cast her face down. "Yes?" The man asked in a deep, bass voice, without turning around. The woman wondered briefly, for the hundredth time, how he had known she was there: surely she had been more quiet then that? But she banished such thoughts and instead focussed on her task.

"My lord, there is a messenger here seeking an audience with you." Now did the man stir: he unfolded his arms and turned around. While keeping her face downcast, the woman risked a glance at his face. His expression was unreadable, other then perhaps an element of surprise, but his eyes… Those eyes, while so dark, at the same time blazed as fiercely as the bright sun itself: cunning and wily, ambitious and proud, passionate and powerful. "A messenger from whom?"  
"The King."

Now there was a brief lapse in his mysterious façade, now there was the sign of a reaction. The man hissed through his teeth at the sound of the words, almost as if someone had spoken an insult to him. When next he spoke it was in tones of irritation: "Send him up."

The woman stood up, keeping her head lowered, crossed her arms over her chest and bowed in salute, then quickly left. Left alone, the man growled to himself quietly and turned back to look out over the land. From his vantage point he could see over the red cliff opposite the fort on which he stood that wall of stone which provided some shelter from the merciless winds of the wasteland beyond. And from here he could see the wasteland: the desert proper, constantly shifting and changing in the ever-present gales, the earth of the land being altered and moved about always against its whim. If he listened hard enough, he fancied that he could almost hear the wailing of the spirits and the ghosts of those legions of peopler who had been lost in the storm of sand and were now doomed to never go home. Another breeze blew up from the haunted desert, crossing over the wall and reaching the king where he stood, bringing specks of penetrating, invasive dust with it. He sniffed the air: a storm was on its way. No rain would come with this tempest, oh no: such a thing was a very rare occurrence indeed. Just a cloud of billowing dust, whipped into a frenzy by the raging wind, invading every opening, every nook and cranny, penetrating into every hiding place and stronghold that the hands of his people could build. They sprang up totally without warning to those not used to the ways of the valley, not tuned to its sorrowful cycle, and would consume everything in their wake in a spinning fury of the elements.

The man was again broken out of his reverie, this time by the rather more audible footfalls of a stranger, flanked by two women dressed and armed as the last one had been. The newcomer was very pale: far too pale for the desert, and already the beginnings of a burn could be seen around the base of his neck. Beads of sweat caused his forehead to shine dully in the light. He was dressed regally in reds and whites, with a shield born on his back and a ruler-strait broadsword in his belt. Both of the guards kneeled in an identical fashion to the last, the stranger copied them. The dark man did not see this however, for he did not turn around as they arrived. "Recall any who are outside immediately and order the fort to be closed: a storm is brewing." He said to the guards, who immediately rose, crossed their arms and bowed as the other had, and left in a hurry. For a moment there was a silence, before the dark man addressed the stranger without facing him: "Arise. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of the companionship of one of the King's knights?"

"The King of Hyrule cordially greets his most loyal counter-part!" The knight said in a loud, pompous voice as he stood up. "May his reign be long and prosperous." _Counter-part? Hah_ the desert king thought, _equals are not loyal_. What he said, however, was "I thank the King for his blessings, and bestow my own humble proclamation upon him: may he receive exactly, and no less, then what he deserves. But my question remains unanswered: why is it that you have come?"

"A most grave matter troubles the mind of our benevolent king." The knight said, then frowned and paused. The king did or said nothing during the silence. Finally unable to stand it, the messenger asked "Is it customary in your land to address people without facing them?" Unseen by the knight, the king's features twisted into a snarl. "I apologise, sometimes I can become lost in thought when looking out over my realm." Amending his expression to return to the same emotionless glare, the dark king turned around and looked directly into the eyes of the knight. "What is this grave matter that you speak of?" The knight now almost wished he would turn around again: those eyes were so searching, so bright in their darkness. "You, surely, have heard that the crown of the king has gone missing?"

"I have. What of it?"

"The King is perplexed by this event: he has sent messengers to all corners of his realm, asking if any have sight or word of it. It is imperative that-"

"The King presumes I have stolen it." The dark man interjected. The messenger, taking aback, floundered; "Not at all, but his Majesty is anxious to receive news-"

"Do not bandy words with me as if I were a half-wit." The lord interrupted a second time, speaking calmly but with an undertone of threat. "We in the desert have long since learned the virtue of speaking frankly. Subtleties lead to misinterpretation, which leads to grievous error. The King thinks I have taken his crown, and asks it returned immediately."

The knight was now becoming rather annoyed with the crudeness of this supposed lord. "With all due respect, sir, your people do not have a blameless record when it comes to such matters." Had the knight been a sharper, more aware person, he would have seen the sudden rage flash through the black-clad king's features: but it was gone so quickly that it may as well have not been there at all. "No indeed. We cannot profess to be as honourable as the King's other trusted allies such as, say, the Sheikah." The knight now was very incensed, and it took all of his training and court instincts to bite back a hasty and ill-considered reply. While he did so, however, the king continued: "Nor can we claim to be as bright and upstanding as the Hylians themselves, who assuredly have never been cruel or conceited in the history of their privileged existence, living as they do in the very lap of luxury, the greenest and most provident fields in the world, where the wind blows soft and refreshing in one's face. Certainly I can understand the King's suspicions. However, I regret to inform him that I do not have the crown in my possession, and therefore cannot return it to him. You may tell him, however, that should I receive word of its whereabouts, he shall be the first to know."

"The king thanks you for your assistance in this matter." The knight replied, his tone now stiff and formal with barely-controlled anger. "He shall, I am sure, keep you well-informed of events."

"Oh I am sure of that as well."

The messenger now turned to leave, wiping the sweat from his brow as another, now much stronger gust of wind graced the place on which he stood, blowing dry dust strait into his eyes. "Wait a moment." The king commanded. The knight found himself obeying before he really was thinking about it: the voice of the man was so powerful and regal it seemed to speak to instinct rather then the rational mind. "Perhaps you would care to bring another message to the king when you return?"

"What message is this?"  
"We Gerudo are a poor people. We have not much to give. But times are hard this summer. If it would please the king to send us water with which to ease our drought, we would be most thankful, and indebted to him. Such debts become valuable in time."

"The waters of Hyrule are under the ownership of the Zora people and their king. My own king does not have authority to grant such a request."  
"But is not King Zora as loyal a vassal of the royal family as I am?"

"The King does not wish to meddle in the realms and affairs of his subordinates."

At this a smile crossed the Gerudo King's features: an ironic, sarcastic, almost insane smile that frightened the knight: the very same knight who was no untested youth in war. "No. Of course not." He said in a mad tone to match the smile. A sudden gale whipped up from the Wasteland without warning, bringing tidings of dryness and death: the messenger coughed and spluttered, lost his balance and fell, wiping the sand from his eyes. The dark king took hold of his shoulder and guided him inside, where the windows were now shuttered and the doors firmly closed. Behind them the furious storm, cheated of its prey, strained against the stone walls, trying its hardest to get at those who sheltered within. "Does the air always howl so in this land?" The knight asked in wonder and fear. The dark king's horrible smile deepened, but in his eye could be seen a great sorrow. "Yes. Always."


End file.
